


everywhere he touches (is fire)

by whaticameherefor



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, betty cooper is also kind of a minx, jughead jones can't stop touching betty cooper pass it on, there's a wager afoot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 16:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15666879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whaticameherefor/pseuds/whaticameherefor
Summary: Once he climbed up a ladder and through her window to kiss her in her bedroom, it felt like the floodgates had opened; Jughead never seemed to be able to keep his hands off her. And not in a sexual way (although yes,sometimesin a sexual way) but mostly with small little gestures. Gestures that, after weeks of quiet observation, Betty is now sure are completely subconscious. Sometimes, he has absolutely no idea that he’s touching her.





	everywhere he touches (is fire)

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thank you to my betas @writeraquamarinara and @redundantoxymorons. You are queens! 
> 
> And special shout out to @writeraquamarinara for the title <3

* * *

 

 

“Everywhere he touches is fire. My whole body is burning up, the two of us becoming twin points of the same bright white flame.”

― Lauren Oliver, Delirium

 

* * *

 

Growing up, Jughead Jones was never really a touchy feely person. Sure, Betty remembers hugs at birthday parties or embraces after one of them (usually Betty) had returned to Riverdale after being away for a while. And he never shied away from her attempts at physical contact — Betty Cooper was, after all, an openly affectionate person — but he also never initiated anything.

 

Once the awkwardness that was middle school happened and she got so busy with schoolwork and extracurriculars that she barely saw Archie, her _neighbor_ and best friend, let alone Jughead, he became more aloof and withdrawn. They’d drifted apart during those years and on the rare occasion she saw him, he’d practically bend over backwards, Matrix-style to avoid touching her. She chalked it up to Jughead just being Jughead and dismissed any wandering thoughts about it.

 

Until.

 

Until the summer before sophomore year, when Jason Blossom turned up on the shores of Sweetwater River with a bullet hole in his head, and Betty wanted to know _why_. So she recruited Jughead to help her investigate the murder and write with her for the _Blue & Gold_. At the time, she thought he agreed against his better judgement, if not his inclination, only enticed by the prospect of having a first-hand account of the affair for his novel.

 

(Knowing what she knows now, she realizes that he was definitely not enticed by a literary leg up, but by _other things,_ and that he was probably going to say yes to whatever she’d asked of him in that moment. Stick up an ice cream truck? Shoe shopping? Quality time with Cheryl Blossom? As long as Betty Cooper was there, he would be too.

 

She wasn’t being dramatic either — that was actually something Jughead had confessed after they got together during one of their late night phone calls where they talked for hours and fell asleep still on the line.)

 

After they started working closely together on the murder investigation and the search for Polly, he became more demonstrative, physically. A hand on her shoulder, steadying her. His hand on top of hers, comforting her. Or even one on the small of her back, guiding her.

 

At first, she didn’t think anything of it. They were old friends, and it was a turbulent time in their once-sleepy little town. Surely all anyone could want in a situation like this was some comfort, so if a little more physicality was the product of Jughead Jones’ search for solace, she didn’t mind one bit. And if she was being honest with herself, she _liked_ the way he had started to touch her. It calmed her, brought her back down to reality. When they were piecing evidence, motives, and alibis together and her mind spiraled out of control, it was Jughead’s touch that grounded her, and she only slightly suspected that she knew the reason why.

 

Once he climbed up a ladder and through her window to kiss her in her bedroom, it felt like the floodgates had opened; Jughead never seemed to be able to keep his hands off her. And not in a sexual way (although yes, _sometimes_ in a sexual way) but mostly with small little gestures. Gestures that, after weeks of quiet observation, Betty is now sure are completely subconscious. Sometimes, he has absolutely no idea that he’s touching her.

 

One day as they’re studying in her bedroom, books spread out along the foot of the bed as they lean against the mountain of pillows propped up against the headboard, she’s feeling restless. She’s chewing on a pen cap and fidgeting with the paper in her notebooks as she reads a passage in her history book, ruminating over a potential topic for the essay due next week. As if responding to her jitteriness, she feels his fingertips glide up her spine, settling at the base of her neck, squeezing lightly.

 

She smiles coyly as she feels her body start to tingle, tremors emanating from the nape of her neck where the pads of his fingers have started rubbing, gently massaging her skin. She has to fight the urge to drop her head down and tell him to never stop touching her. To give in to the feelings that have been flaming between them.

 

But she forces herself to acknowledge that this is not the time for such pursuits, so she straightens her spine and says instead, “You know, you do this a lot.” She wiggles her shoulders to direct his attention to his hand’s ministrations before adding, “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

 

“What? Touch you?” The book he’s holding in his other hand falls unceremoniously onto the bed as he turns his head to look at her. He appears slightly bemused. But he does not, Betty notes, stop touching her.

 

“Yeah, you do it a lot. I know you don’t even know you’re doing it half the time either. I always catch you.”

 

“Betts, you wound me,” he responds indignantly. His face is so adorable, all pouty in mock-offense. Betty decides she needs to see it again.

 

He moves his hand from her neck to her knee, and Betty leans in closer to him without even realizing it.  “I like touching you. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t want to touch you… all over… all day long?”

 

The edges of his lips lift into an alluring smile as he slowly extends his fingertips out across her kneecap and then brings them back into the center, in and out, feather-light touches driving her insane. The tingling resumes from there.   _Damn,_ she thinks, _he’s too distracting_.

 

It’s then that it hits her — she needs a distraction for her distraction. If he keeps at it with those hands of his, she’ll never get any work done. A plan is quickly hatched: she needs to set a challenge to keep him occupied while she works. She mentally calculates that she needs another half hour to complete her assignments and then adds a little buffer to the tally so she can enjoy the game for a bit once she’s finished.

 

“A _very_ bad one,” she answers, double entendre slipping out a little too easily. She chastises herself for giving in to her baser instincts and corrects course. “But I have a proposition for you: Prove something to me —” Betty reaches down and hooks a finger in his belt loop, tugging him closer “— and I’ll reward you.”

 

She bites her lip and subtly bats her eyelashes, using all of her womanly wiles to get him right where she wants him. His face flashes with excitement and lust before settling on confusion. “A reward,” he eyes her skeptically. “What is it?”

 

“If you win, you’ll find out.” Her answer provokes a slight groan from her boyfriend and she smiles, knowing he’s about to relent.

 

“What do I have to do, Cooper?”

 

“I bet you can’t keep your hands off me for one hour.”

 

“One hour?” he replies smugly. “Pfft, easy. You’re on!” Jughead holds out his hand to shake on it, looking like victory has already been handed to him on a silver platter.

 

“Excellent.” Betty just barely manages to stifle a wicked smile.

 

At first, Jughead maintains constant vigilance. He goes out of his way to shift a few inches away from her on the bed and very pointedly _does not_ touch her as they both resume studying. Which works out for her, because without his (not altogether unwelcome) interruptions, she breezes through the rest of her work in record time. Her speed may also be because she knows what will undoubtedly transpire once Jughead completely forgets himself, and she’s eager to win the bet.

 

She surreptitiously checks the time - there’s still thirty minutes left, and while she knows that Jughead will crumble before the hour is up she figures there’s no harm in helping him along. As she pretends to perfect the outline for her essay, she arches her back in a stretch, pushing her chest up and out, letting a small sound of contentment slip from her mouth. She sees his eyes dart in her direction and over her form slowly, and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He clears his throat and redirects his focus back to his book. She has his attention, but she’s only just warming up.

 

The thought gives way to her next idea. She sets her pen down on her notebook and lifts her sweater up her torso and over her head, tossing it toward her desk chair, leaving her in just a tank top. She fans herself absentmindedly to keep up the ruse. Considerably more exposed skin seems to have the desired effect as she sees the fingers of the hand resting on his knee start to twitch involuntarily.

 

She’s stacked the deck sufficiently, but she decides on one last move before letting nature take its course. Betty pushes her things toward the end of the bed and her body follows, coming to a rest on her stomach, propping her chin up in one hand, and then returns to her outline. She bites her lip in satisfaction as she hears a strangled moan from behind her - she knows he’s enjoying the view.

 

She figures she might as well continue working while she waits for Jughead to take the bait, glancing at the clock one more time. Twenty minutes to go and she can feel the heat of his stare on her ass. She lifts her feet in the air and hooks one leg over the other behind her, bouncing them back and forth playfully. It’s just a matter of time.

 

When there are just ten minutes remaining, Betty emerges triumphant. Her legs have fallen back onto the bed, crossed at the ankles, and his palm falls to her calf. His fingers travel in and out, then up and down the back of her leg lazily, as if he’s unaware his hand is even moving at all. Betty waits a few minutes, relishing in the feel of his hand against her skin, goosebumps springing up on her flesh.

 

“Juggie?” Betty breaks the silence and innocently turns her head so she can watch his defeat unfold.

 

“Hm.” is all he replies as she waits for him to catch on. It only takes him a few moments to notice she’s staring at him, and then a few more before he understands why. Knowing he’s lost the wager, he swears. “Ah, fuck.” There it is, that loveable little pout.

 

She pushes herself up from her current position and scrambles back up the bed toward her boyfriend, straddling his lap and flinging her arms around his neck. Jughead tosses his book to the side and brings his hands to her lower back, clinging desperately as if he hadn’t touched her in weeks.

 

“Ha! I knew it. I knew you couldn’t do it. I win. Say it. Say that I win!”

 

Jughead buries his head in her chest and forces out a muffled, “Fine. You win. I lose; I have zero self control.” She grins as his head makes its way out of her cleavage, and she lifts his chin so she can meet his lips with her own.

 

“I told you, you don’t even realize it,” she teases as she shakes her head.

 

“It’s not my fault, baby, I can’t help it. You’re just irresistible.” Jughead begins kissing his way up her jawline before dragging his tongue down her neck and sinking his teeth into her shoulder, sucking at her flesh in a way that she knows will leave a mark.

 

Trying to keep her wits about her, Betty asks him a question, hoping he’ll need to detach his mouth long enough for her to clear her head, but it takes multiple attempts to divert his attention. “Jug? Juggie… Jughead.”

 

He breaks contact with her skin and pulls back enough to look into her eyes. “I’m kinda in the middle of something here, Betts.”

 

“I know, I’m just wondering — and again, not complaining at all, but why do you think you can’t keep your hands to yourself? _Really?_ ”

 

Jughead thinks for a moment before answering. “For years, all I could think about was what it’d be like to touch you whenever I wanted. It was torture not being able to just reach out and hold your hand or kiss your lips or run my hands through your hair.” He punctuates the last part of his sentence by reaching up and pushing a loose blonde strand back into place. He shrugs, attempting to lighten the serious tone the conversation has taken on. “Now I can.”

 

“Making up for lost time?”

 

“Exactly,” he grins. “So do I want to know what reward I’m missing out on because of my insatiable appetite for you?”

 

“Well,” her hand snakes down between their bodies and she smirks when she finds what she’s looking for. “What I said was that I wanted you to prove something to me.” Jughead’s face contorts in confusion, so she presses down with enough force to elicit a moan from the boy underneath her, “And you did.”

 

Jughead’s eyebrow cocks in response. “Oh yeah?”

 

She nods innocently. “It seems your enthusiasm for me knows no bounds.” She pushes him back against the pillows and runs her hands up his chest, settling on his shoulders. “And I think it’s time for your reward.”

 

**fin**

 


End file.
